The Pursuit Of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs
by tielan
Summary: In his first year at the Roswell School of Magic, Clint discovered he was really good at Transfiguration. He had the matchstick into the needle by the end of the first lesson. Unfortunately, it kind of went downhill from there. A story of Clint Barton's high school years, in 8 parts. [FINISHED]
1. Transfigurations

**NOTES**: This is more or less an "Avengers at Hogwarts" AU...only they're not exactly at Hogwarts.

**SUMMARY**: In his first year at the Roswell School of Magic, Clint discovered he was really good at Transfiguration. He had the matchstick into the needle by the end of the first lesson.

Unfortunately, it kind of went downhill from there.

**The Pursuit of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs**

**I. Transfiguration**

In his first year at the Roswell School of Magic, Clint discovered he was really good at Transfiguration.

He had the matchstick into the needle by the end of the _first lesson_.

Unfortunately, it kind of went downhill from there.

Buttons to beetles? Nope. Teacups to mice? Not likely. Snakes to watermelons? Uh, no.

In fact, Clint was only good at _one type_ of Transfiguration. And he had that down pat by the end of the first month at Roswell.

Five years later – in his sophomore year at the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry - he's gotten better at Transfiguration generally - he can do beetles, mice, and watermelons with some effort - but what came naturally - his 'default' as Jane Foster once called it consolingly - was more or less the same.

"You know," Tony says loudly as he peers over Natasha's shoulder, "I'm pretty sure that essays aren't supposed to look like that."

Nearly every boy in their year has thought about hexing Tony Stark since they arrived at the Institute, and more than a few outside their year have contemplated it, too. The Slytherin boy is good looking, clever, cunning, and charming, to say nothing of wealthy. He's also trouble, mayhem, mischief, and snark, all wrapped up in one personable parcel, and still has girls throwing themselves at him.

He's said to be fairly good at catching them, too.

The thing about Tony is that where he is, drama follows. Naturally everyone in the room comes over to look, including Professor Book.

"Impressive transfiguration skills, Mr. Barton. I don't suppose you can turn it back?"

And that's the other problem with his one party trick. "Uh, no, sir."

Clint wants to sink through the floor as Natasha Romanoff picks up the arrow - rowan wood like her wand, thick-fletched with goose feathers, and with a weirdly pointed tip. One brow too dark and fine for the scarlet riot of her hair quirks at Clint. "_This_ is what they teach you here?"

She has only the barest trace of her native Russian accent, and there are all kinds of rumours as to how she came to study at Salem this year. But her hair is utterly distinctive, her poise absolute, and although it's only a month into term, she's already had enough guys ask her out to make up a Quidditch team - including reserves.

"Well, apparently that's mostly Barton," Tony says, leaning well into Natasha's personal space although his gaze is on Barton. "I heard you're really good at long and pointy - bet that makes you a hit with the girls."

Clint has never thought about hexing Stark before.

With his cheeks burning as Professor Book calls the class to order in his quiet, authoritative way and neatly transfigures Natasha's essay back, Clint's thinking about it now.

**tbc**


	2. Potions

**The Pursuit of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs**

**II. Potions**

Clint comes down to the Hufflepuff common room one Wednesday morning to find Darcy Lewis in a tattered scarf and tears.

"Darcy? Hey, what's wrong?"

"I can't find Elspeth! She's been missing since last week and I thought she'd just gone off hunting for a bit because she sometimes does that, but I haven't seen her and I can't sleep and I keep thinking that one of those _horrid_ Slytherin pets must have hurt her or eaten her!"

It takes nearly an hour of searching the school - an hour during which he misses breakfast - to find Elspeth padding down the hallway, tail in the air, with a newborn kitten hanging from her mouth. Darcy squeals fit to break eardrums, and seizes newborn and mother, hurrying off to find a house-elf to help find the rest of the litter.

"Well," says Clint to Phil Coulson who turned up for the last fifteen minutes of the search, "she could at least have said thank you."

"You helped a damsel in need," Phil says, slapping him on the back.

"Tell that to my stomach when it starts rumbling in Potions. Breakfast will be over by now."

And, yeah, Potions is hell - all precise instructions and gnawing hunger. Clint is thinking longingly of lunch when he mistakes henbane for mugglewort and adds the former to his potion, resulting in his cauldron being enveloped in blue fire.

Professor Washburne deals with it with a wave of her wand and a cool lecture. "Potions requires your full and absolute attention, Mr. Barton. Without it, you're likely to get yourself injured or killed when your potion goes wrong. I expected better from you. Five points from Hufflepuff."

Clint wants to sink into his chair; worse still is the sympathetic looks from the Ravenclaws, all of whom are brewing perfectly perfect Potions.

Okay, so the fumes from Bruce Banner's potion turns him a shade of green and makes him puke, the combination of which occasions an early evacuation from the class and means they're sitting in study hall when the other students drift in from their classes.

"Barton. Coulson." Maria Hill plants herself opposite them with a cool smile. For some reason, she seems to like them, and Clint isn't about to argue. Maria is kinda _scary_. "Got an early mark?"

"Banner yakked in Potions," Phil explains, scratching industriously away with his quill. "They took him up to the infirmary for fixing."

"He needed fixing after vomiting?"

"It wasn't the puking that needed fixing," Clint cross-hatches at the drawing which is all the 'work' he's managed to do so far. "It was the part where he turned green."

He tries not to look around to see where Natasha is and whether she's coming along. She and Maria have become close – two reserved Slytherin girls who keep their emotions close and their wands closer.

"I'm sure he'll be okay." Maria begins pulling out her books, then stops as Clint's stomach rumbles loudly. "What was _that_?"

"What was what?" Natasha asks as she slings her satchel to the bench.

"He didn't get any breakfast," Phil offers before Clint can say anything.

Natasha looks at him, not without some sympathy. "Why not?"

"_Cliiiiiiiint!_" Darcy's squeal heralds her run down the row of benches before she flings herself at him, arms around his neck, almost straddling him as she babbles about litters and kittens and tells him that he's the most amazing, most awesome, most wonderful guy in the world for finding her kitty.

He tries to smile at Natasha and Maria, who are looking speculative and amused respectively.

It comes off as more of a grimace.

**tbc**


	3. Duelling Club

**The Pursuit of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs**

**III. Duelling Club**

In Clint's opinion, Duelling Club has always been as much of an exercise in personality observation as spell-casting.

For instance, Sif Sigismund becomes short-tempered when her spells batter ineffectively against Maria Hill's _Protego_. And _Protego_ is all Maria casts - until Sif rolls her eyes and turns away and Maria casts a binding spell on the Gryffindor - ankles, knees, elbows wrists. And then smiles, like a cat that's just worked out how to get the fish platter off the table.

Jane's laughing too hard at Tony Stark's charming sallies to effectively cast most of her spells, and quite unaware of the half-amused, half-envious expression of house-mate Pepper Potts as she tries to concentrate on defending against Thor Odinsson.

Defending against Thor is _difficult_, which makes Clint wonder why Professor Dex set Pepper up against him. Pepper's quiet and clever and efficient, but she's not very strong at the offensive spells.

Maybe that's the point.

Bruce Banner is up against the new kid, Steve Rogers. After the Potions accident, he still has a tendency to turn green every now and then - usually when in a temper. Even odder: when Bruce turns green, his spells are more aggressive in attack, more solid in defence. Professor Tam and Professor Frye are working together to find a cure for the greenness, but Clint sometimes wonders if Bruce would take the option if it was offered.

On the other side of the hall, Loki Odinsson is trying a variety of hexes against Erik Selvig, who seems to be holding them off, although Clint can see the sheen of sweat across the Ravenclaw boy's skin.

"Are we going to duel, or are we going to stare at everyone else?" Natasha's query breaks into Clint's thoughts.

He flushes. "Sorry. I like watching." Then, "Why didn't you just attack?"

Her shrug bounces the scarlet curls of her hair across her shoulders. "It's not real. I don't need to take you out now."

"And if you did?"

Cool blue eyes meet his. "Then I would."

Clint wonders what kind of a world she came from - to talk about taking someone out so coolly. "Okay, then."

He plants his feet and watches her chest as his instructors taught him. It's a nice chest to watch, although that's not why he's watching it; it's because it's the most central place on the body, and will telegraph any moves she makes before she makes it.

As it is, it barely helps. There's no warning other than a twitch, but he casts the _Protego_ just in time to meet her spell. Her _silent_ spell. He's so stunned he nearly fails to follow it up with a Jelly-Legs Jinx which she cuts down. After that her spells are audible, although barely. Whoever taught her to duel taught her the deadly version.

But Clint's childhood wasn't all sunshine and roses either. He knows how to duel deadly; he just doesn't show off the way Stark does. Why let them know what you can do?

What follows is one of the most intense - and exhilarating - duels that Clint's ever been in. Natasha's sharp and cunning and clever and sneaky, and it takes everything he has and is to attack her and defend himself. And he revels in every moment of it - every moment that he manages to stay standing while she tries to bring him down.

The only reason she gets him in the end is because a commotion rises at the other end of the hall - Stark and Rogers are going head to head - something about Stark poking Banner to see if he can make the Ravenclaw boy turn green at will, and Rogers taking offence.

It's an impressive spectacle, and one which distracts Clint for the barest of moments.

It's enough for Natasha to cast the Body-Bind on him, and Clint feels his muscles stiffen and his skin go cold.

He doesn't see the resolution of the fight between Stark and Rogers; what he sees is Natasha kneeling over him, her brow gently furrowed - a scarlet-haired angel of breathtaking glory.

**tbc**


	4. History Of Magic

**NOTES**: Thanks, **sv4me** for asking for longer chapters. Unfortunately the story is pretty much written (but for the last chapter). They do get a little bit longer, but probably not as much as you're hoping for!

**The Pursuit of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs**

**IV. History of Magic**

Clint hasn't really spoken much to Steve Rogers. The young man arrived at the Salem Institute four days into the new year, dazed, confused, heartsore, and out of his time - at the time of the US War of Wizarding Supremacy, he was fifteen.

Seventy years later, he's still fifteen.

Rumours abound: he was Petrified by Erik Lensherr himself because he showed so much promise, he fell afoul of Petrifying hexes at the Westchester School Of Wizardry while hiding from the war and there was no-one to break him out of them, he made a bargain with the Superior Brotherhood so that they would Petrify him rather than kill him...

Listening to Steve talk about the Pearl Harbor attack in History Of Magic seems kind of surreal. It was another world - and not just a Muggle one - but a world in which a school student might end up being involved in a war.

Of course, there was the Second War Of Voldemort in Great Britain – but the only reason that involved students was because Harry Potter was still at Hogwarts. And it was a European thing anyway. Things like that are in the past when it comes to the US – wizardkind here are mostly more enlightened.

Mostly.

"Was it a shock, coming from a Muggle background, realising that people thought that way about Muggleborns?"

"It was more of a shock realising that Pearl Harbor had been a wizarding attack as well, not just the Japanese invading." Steve shrugs. "People will always find something to feel superior about."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing to feel superior," Loki Odinsson says from up the back.

"Isn't it?" Steve sounds matter of fact.

"Well, maybe not when you _are_ superior. I mean, come now!" Loki looks around the room. "Would anyone here, knowing about magic, _really_ want to be a Muggle? We have insights into the world that Muggles don't, skills they could never use; it makes sense that we should be guiding them."

"Guiding them?" Steve's brow furrows. "Or ruling them? Because Lensherr wasn't about 'guiding' Muggles."

"But we have magic," Natasha breaks in, somewhat unexpectedly. The class looks at her and her cheeks go pink but she answers with cool composure. "Muggles can't perform spells or do the things we do. And they don't know about magic, either. It means we see the world more completely – we have all the facts."

"Xavier says – said," Steve corrects himself with a wince, "that having power means we have a responsibility to those who don't."

"And if that responsibility entails managing them – as," Loki looks at his brother, "our father does with the Muggle village in the next valley, then that's the price of peace."

"Managing," Thor rumbles. "Looking after them. Not what Lensherr did."

"The strong protecting the weak." Coulson nods earnestly, leaning forward in his chair. "That's what Steve means – what Xavier believed in."

"But what about when there is no peace, and no way to gain it but by exercising power?" Natasha asks. "There are times when it's necessary to subdue rabble populations for the good of the broader community."

Loki nods enthusiastically. "Power - and the use of it - is all Muggles understand, or else there wouldn't be all those stupid Muggle wars."

"And of course there's no such thing as _wizarding_ wars." Tony says airily to the ceiling.

"Well there wouldn't be if people were sensible about it." Loki makes it sound so reasonable.

Clint thinks that, given time, Loki could probably persuade them that the sky is green. There's a reason he has the nickname 'Silvertongue'.

"I believe," says Professor Emmagan smoothly, "that the discussion has materially wandered away from the topic. We will, of course, be discussing historical clashes between wizarding and Muggle populations, and the divisions of wizards into pure-bloods vs. Muggleborns – including the recent war in the UK, but right now, we are listening to Mr. Rogers telling us about his experiences in the War of Wizarding Supremacy."

Most of the class settles, although Loki looks like he's about to protest. However, Professor Emmagan lifts a warning eyebrow at him and he subsides.

Class continues, but Clint stares fixedly at the back of Natasha's head and wonders what she thinks of Muggleborns.

**tbc**


	5. Quidditch

**The Pursuit of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs**

**V. Quidditch**

It's a clear October afternoon and perfect for the first Quidditch match of the year – a hotly anticipated match between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Clint has managed to jostle his way next to Natasha by virtue of being nice and disarming and looking very much like not-competition when other guys give him the fisheye. She's wrapped in a Slytherin scarf – which, by the bye, goes nicely with her hair and skin – and trying not to look like she's looking forward to this match.

"You know," he says, offering her a Caramel Beetle, "this is America. You're allowed to enjoy sporting events."

She gives him a look, but smiles as she takes a Beetle. "Will you be cheering for Slytherin?"

"Of course. But only because you said you'd hex me if I didn't."

Behind him, Phil snorts, resplendent in red and gold to show his support for Gryffindor – and specifically for Steve Rogers. Darcy calls it 'Phil's man-crush' and teases Phil mercilessly about it.

Then the teams march out of the changerooms – scarlet and gold vs. green and silver. Hands are shaken, and brooms mounted. The Keepers take up position in front of the goalposts and Professor Sheppard blows the whistle as he stomps on the box containing Quaffle, Bludgers, and the Snitch.

"And Gryffindor has the Quaffle, Odinsson dodging Strange to pass to Sigismund – back to Thor who just avoids a Bludger hit by Rhodey – still arrowing in to the Keeper, a Zupo pass to Rogers and a shot—Oh! Blocked by the exquisite Hill!"

"Exquisite?" Clint asks beneath the roar of Slytherin supporters.

Natasha's hair smells of lemon and mint as she turns her head – the new haircut suits her – jaw length curls that show off the line of her neck. "Tony knows it annoys her."

"He's a Slytherin annoying the Slytherin Keeper?"

"It's all about the opportunity for Stark," Phil says. "And I'm not complaining."

Annoyed or not, Maria has a steely glint in her eyes as she does what she can to block the Gryffindors. Unfortunately it's not enough against the combined flying skills of Thor, Sif, and Steve, who are turning out to be a deadly combination of scorers.

The Slytherin Chasers and Beaters do their best amidst the cheers of their house and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who've decided to cheer for them. They make a little headway, but the Gryffindors stay ahead - thirty points, forty points, fifty points...

It's going to come down to the Seekers and the Snitch.

Up high, Janet Van Dyne flits around, her eye out for the Snitch, while Loki sails almost casually from one side of the field to the other, his cloak flapping in the wind.

Suddenly - startlingly - Loki dives, his broom zipping through the air like an arrow from a bow, Janet following him in hot pursuit. The noise in the Slytherin stands swells to a roar - the Snitch! The Snitch!

Clint frowns, his gaze skimming the field, looking for the glint of gold on the field.

He can't see it. Which, maybe, means that he's not looking at the right place. But which also, maybe, given that this is Loki Odinsson, means that the Snitch is _not actually there…_

"It's a Wronski," he says, more to himself than Natasha.

She glances at him. "A Wronks—?"

A cry goes up as Loki pulls out of the dive – and Janet almost doesn't. She yanks her broomstick up into a climb that makes Clint's arms ache in sympathy, but which pulls her clear of the ground, although her flying's no longer so steady. Clint's been there; he knows how it feels to be shaken at the near-miss.

And _now_ the flitting gold glint of the Snitch is visible – up the other end of the pitch.

Loki's a green and silver streak across the field, leading Janet by easy, almost casual lengths. Natasha's nails claw at Clint's arm, excitement making her thoughtless. The noise of the crowd rises, rises, rises as Loki dodges the Bludgers that zoom his way, zips past his brother's frown and seizes the Snitch to the tune of a hundred and fifty points and the triumphant roar of the Slytherin supporters.

Dragged up by Natasha's nails, Clint doesn't have more than a moment to grin at her before he's wrapped in a hug: arms, legs – oh Merlin, _breasts_ – squished up against him and his mouth is full of her hair, and Phil's eyebrows are halfway up his forehead in shock, but he gives Clint the thumbs up while Darcy rolls her eyes.

Clint gets to enjoy it for just a moment longer before Natasha realises what she's done, squeaks, and almost shoves him away so he nearly sprawls on the benches.

She spends the rest of the afternoon blushing furiously every time she so much as looks in his direction.

Clint spents the rest of the afternoon grinning.

**tbc**


	6. Imperious

**WARNINGS**: This section projects on Loki's line to Natasha in the Avengers movie: "_Not until I make him kill you, slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear._" It also features an unpleasant flashback from Loki, and Clint's memory of a sexual slur. (I promise it get better!)

**VI. Imperious**

_Distract. Delay. Dismay._

The words roll around his head, crashing into his thoughts every time he tries to gather them. Clint is a splintered shaft, unable to hit its target, a wand that won't cast spells straight, a compass with no north but a pair of green eyes and a pointed smile.

He feels the wrongness as he _Imperio_s the ickle Freshies to do Loki's bidding, but it's covered in a thick, warm haze that reassures him, even as it leaves a distant sickness in his gut.

The punch of the unexpected spell slams him to the side of the corridor, occasioning gasps from the bewigged and befrocked gentlemen in the painting hanging nearby.

_Natasha._

Clint retains the presence of mind to block the next spell, and uses the wall to push himself up as he turns to face her.

She looks pale – so pretty and pale with her red red lips and her red red hair. And he wants that hair in his fist, dragging back on her head with his mouth on those lips—

_Protego._ The shield-spell flicks up with a thought, blocking her next attack. They've both mastered silent spellcasting, they know each others' rhythms—

He knows about rhythms, about pretty white thighs wrapped around his hips, jerking—

"Stop it, Clint!" Her cheeks are scarlet as he – or something that isn't him - shoves the thought into her mind.

—as she whimpers weakly in his arms, clutching at his shoulders as he listens to her broken pants—

"Make me," dares the pointed smile, gleeful at her distress.

—and when he's done, he'll modify her memory and she'll never remember—

The fog in Clint's mind clears for a moment. When? Where? Who—? He's never—

Her hex slams him back, her anger focusing the spell's power sunlike light through a magnifying glass – and Clint's the ant.

He blocks and parries, back and back and back. He's barely got breath to speak because the light in Natasha's eyes is cold and blue and determined. There's no space for him to cry out. There's no space for him to call for help. There's nothing but—

The punch is unexpected, rawly physical and not mere magic. Clint's head snaps back. She's got a right hook like a troll. Laughter echoes in his mind, a pointed pain sharp as the grin that slices through him from chin to balls, and suddenly the world is too sharp and too clear.

Instinct has him rolling away from her fist – it's not a duel now, it's just a fight. "Tasha!"

He blocks her – the move instinctive, the way they taught him to defend himself against the bullies when he was a kid. Moving around from town to town - the strange boy, the odd kid out, the circus faggot – he got good at defending himself...and good at giving back a little of his own. But Clint doesn't want to hurt Natasha. He's not even sure he could. But he can defend against her. And he does. Deflect, distract, direct... Down and then up, like some human jack-in-the-box, he rolls up and balances on the balls of his feet, light as an acrobat, ready to disarm her if—

"_Natasha? Can you hear me? Phil's bleeding out and Nick and Thor are down. I could do with some help here!_"

Her hand rises to the silvery box in her jacket pocket where a tiny flame is burning with Maria's voice – one of Jane Foster's clever little 'Floo Lighters'. There are only five in existence and she won't give them to any of the boys—

"_Nat? Anyone?_"

Her eyes flick to Clint, and he senses her voiceless spell as their eyes lock: _Stupefy._

His last conscious thought is that Phil wasn't supposed to be anywhere near—

**tbc**


	7. Dormitory

**The Pursuit Of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs**

**VII. Dormitory**

They got Loki in the end.

It's cold comfort when Clint sits in the Hufflepuff boys' dorm and stares at Phil's empty bed.

Two days after the attack, they came and took Phil's stuff away – from his neatly-arranged books, to his collection of wizarding trading cards. And Clint stood by the door and watched, stricken, as they took away the evidence that his friend had ever studied at Salem.

Clint runs his wand through his fingers, then closes his hand around the carved shaft, letting the sharp edges of the depictions dig into his palm.

Stark managed to hold off the Imperious Loki cast on him, long enough for Rogers and Banner to come to his rescue. Thor insisted on being a part of the attack because he knew his brother, and Natasha dragged Clint in, pointing out that she had the Floo Lighter and if the boys wanted to stay in touch with the rest of the school, they'd need her and that Clint had an 'in' to Loki's mindset.

For all the good it did Phil.

Nobody blames Clint.

He wishes they would. He certainly does.

A footfall on the step, and Natasha tilts her head in the doorway. "May I come in?"

"It's a free world."

She sits down beside him on the bed, pushing back her quilted jacket. "You weren't at breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry."

And he wasn't in the mood for the chatter and excitement of the other students at the prospect of tonight's Yule Ball, which is going ahead in spite of – or perhaps because of – the events of a month ago.

"_Terrible as Loki's betrayal has been, he did not succeed,_" Professor Weir reminded the school the morning after they dragged Loki into her office, body-bound nine ways to Alaska._ The courage shown by our students prevailed against his aim of bringing dark Wizards into this school, and we will honour that courage – and the lives we lost in the fight – by continuing with our end of year celebrations._"

Clint doesn't want to be happy and party, or be glad that they stopped Loki from taking over the Salem school – well, he does, but he wants to do it with Phil.

And Phil's not here anymore.

"Don't do this to yourself, Clint."

"Nobody else will."

Natasha glares at him. "And you don't think everyone else thinks, 'If only I'd done this, been better, been smarter, been cleverer, I could have stopped this'?"

"Everyone else isn't me."

"And you're special, is that it?"

"Yes! I helped him—I couldn't—I didn't—"

"You need to get over yourself," she says, her voice growing accented as she gets angry. "Because you're not the only one tripping over the guilt. Erik's depressed because he unwittingly helped Loki to find a loophole in the Anti-Apparating spells into the school, and Pepper and Jane think they should have noticed Loki spending so much time with Erik when he wouldn't usually give a Ravenclaw the time of day! And then there's Maria," she added, "who thinks that Phil's in hospital because she failed to do more than keep Phil alive after Fury went down with a shattered knee and Thor was in the body-bind."

"That's stupid."

"No more than thinking you could have fought the Imperious!"

"Stark did!"

"Stark's a narcissist! You know they're nearly impossible to Imperious!" Natasha rolls her eyes. "Loki wanted to make trouble and he did. If it hadn't been you, someone else would've suited his purposes!"

Clint tilts his head at her. Her voice has risen louder with each statement. "You're really mad."

"If you're being stupid about this, I think I can be angry about it!"

He grins because...well, he's not quite sure why. It's not exactly funny that she's angry, except that it kind of is. There's a warm feeling in his belly when he looks at her.

"Don't you smile at me like that."

"Like what?"

Her eyes narrow and Clint begins thinking '_uh-oh_'. Then she leans forward, her mouth comes up, and her lips press against his and '_uh-oh_' suddenly becomes '_oh yeah_!'

Clint doesn't mean to grab her, but he figures he'd better kiss her back, quickly, before she realises what she's done. He'll blame it on the Imperious. Or possibly on a temporary leave of sanity? Maybe on the fact that it's snowing outside and he didn't want her to get cold...

Natasha's soft and warm and smells of lemon, and she's not pushing him away. In fact she's climbing onto his lap and both lap and hands are suddenly full of Natasha. Merlin's balls! Who taught her to kiss like this? What is she thinking? Why is _he_ thinking at all when he could move his hands just a little further down and—

"If you two want privacy, I suggest you at least lock the door." Maria arches an eyebrow as she leans in the open doorway. "Should I come back later?"

"No!" Clint's protest is strangled, embarrassment taking up residence in his throat. It only increases as Natasha turns to look at him, her expression radiating disbelief and embarrassment as her skin radiates pink heat. "Not that I want to stop. Unless you want to stop— Oh, _Merlin_."

She relaxes a little as he blurts out his reaction, which Clint figures is a good thing. Maybe.

"Adorable as you two are, there are more important matters to deal with," Maria drawls. "You're wanted in the common room. Also, Barton, you'd better have some decent dress robes because I'd rather not drag you naked into the Great Hall for the Yule Ball, but I will if I have to."

"You and what army?"

"Well, Natasha, for one. Rogers. Stark would do it just for the laughs. I could probably blackmail Sif..."

"With what?"

Maria smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know? Now," she folds her arms. "Come downstairs."

"Bossy," says Natasha.

"And don't you forget it."

Clint takes a deep breath and looks at Natasha. "We can continue this later. I mean, if you _want_ to continue this la—"

It may be a few seconds later, or it may be a few hours later – Clint's sense of time has completely gone out the window - when someone asks, "Are they coming?"

"Not yet." Maria sounds exasperated. "Although they're breathing pretty hard."

Natasha's laughing as she breaks off the kiss, grabbing Clint's arm and pulling him towards the door. Standing just outside the dorm, Steve Rogers gives Clint a measuring look but just shrugs with a smile as he turns to follow Maria down the stairs, one hand grabbing her arm when she slips a step and refusing to let go until they reach the Hufflepuff common room.

Where Phil is sitting on the couch, threatening to hex Stark if he doesn't step away, and telling Darcy that he's fine, no, really, he is, she doesn't have to hover.

Clint nearly slides down the last couple of stairs himself. As it is, he lands on his feet, Natasha's hand over his.

Phil tilts his head, the seamed scars pink and shiny on his face, his hair a shaved fuzz over the line of his skull. "Hey."

"Hey," Clint croaks. "How are you?"

"Recovering." Phil smiles, the easy smile that Clint hasn't seen for too long. "I hear you've been doing some travelling."

"I... Travelling?"

"On a guilt trip." The smile remains, the amusement doesn't. "The EMWs say I'm not supposed to strain myself, so I'll only say this once, Clint. No more travelling, okay?"

"Okay."

Phil's gaze travels down, and Clint abruptly realises he's still holding onto Natasha's hand. He almost drops it, but Natasha's grip suggests she's not about to let him go. His neck is all hot, and Stark is eyeballing him, but if she's not going to let go, he's not.

"So," Phil says as his gaze flicks back up, and the laughter is back in his friend's eyes, "you're going to have to tell me all the news from the last month. Every little detail."

"_Every_ little detail?"

"Well, most of them."

**tbc**


	8. Yule Ball

**VIII: Yule Ball**

Clint doesn't have the words to describe Natasha when she comes down the hall in something black and scarlet and floaty and slinky. "Um. Is that legal wear?"

"I'd think it would be more of a problem if I wasn't wearing it."

His brain fries at the thought of Natasha not wearing—

Her lips close over his for the second time today. It's a new record. And she kisses really well, which makes him wonder who she's been practising with before his thoughts dissolve into the soft warmth of her mouth under his. He's not sure how long the kiss lasts – maybe a day or two, possibly a season or so – but after a while, a deep, drawling voice inquires, "Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting you?"

They jerk apart to behold Nick Fury leaning against the wall, arms folded, looking every inch the Head Boy, even in formal dress robes.

"Ah—" Slightly dazed, Clint isn't quite sure what to say. Fury does intimidating like he was born to it.

"You're blocking the passageway," Fury says flatly.

"There's plenty of room—" Clint begins, a little belligerent at being caught and criticised. And they're up against the wall – at least, Natasha is, and he's up against her and Fury's not _that_ lame…

"We're just going." Natasha grabs Clint's hand and drags him off. "He's grumpy about his knee."

"I thought they fixed it all up!"

"It aches a lot. He was going around on crutches until last week, you know. And there's rumours that he couldn't get a date to the Yule Ball."

Clint glances back along the corridor just before Natasha drags him around the corner. "Well, if kissing Sif Sigismund's hand is 'not getting a date', I don't think I want to see what happens when he _does_ get a date. No—" He yanks her back when she turns, intrigued, and uses the opportunity to hook an arm around her waist. "We are _not_ going to spy on Nick Fury."

"Spoilsport," Natasha mutters, but she doesn't try to duck out of his grip.

"I prefer staying unhexed," Clint tells her as they join the flow of late couples in the main corridor. "And so would you…"

Then he trails off in the glittering, sparkling wonder of the decorated hall. Gleaming snowflakes, shining stalactites, and the enchanted ceiling that's the hallmark of the great halls of schools from the Hogwarts model the world over.

There's a small crowd of familiar people over by one of the tables – Phil holding court in the middle of it, with Darcy perched next to him in something orange and frilly as she natters away at Jane Foster. Maria sits silent and mockingly amused on Phil's other side, as Stark and Rogers argue over exactly what Phil wants to drink before Pepper rolls her eyes and drags them both off to the drinks table.

"Thank Merlin," Maria mutters. "I was ready to hex them both."

"Just as well Pepper's got them in hand." Phil tilts an impish smile in Clint's direction. "You two took your time."

"Fury sprung us outside," Natasha says as Clint blushes. She turns to Maria. "Did you know about him and Sif?"

"No! Really?" Maria's eyes light up with a glee that definitely borders on unholy.

"Clint saw—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Clint is _not_ going to end up being the person whose name is attached to the gossip about—"It was just a glimpse and—"

"What is this about Sif and Fury?" Thor interrupts, halting in his conversation with Banner, all height and muscle and protective pride. "Is he harassing her?"

"Thor." Phil tilts his head at the door where Fury and Sif have just walked in, arm in arm and chatting easily. A less likely picture of harassment Clint can't imagine.

Thor looks almost crestfallen. "Oh. I suppose I should—"

"Get me a drink?" Jane interposes brightly. "Oh, I'd love one, Thor, thank you. And I'm sure that Clint and Natasha would love drinks, too."

Neatly routed, Thor accepts the charge laid on him by Jane, and Betty Ross nudges Banner to join him.

"Worthy of a Slytherin," Maria smirks.

"Sharp thinking," Jane counters with a sigh. "After Loki—" She halts, her skin suddenly pink as she looks from Phil to Clint and back to Phil again.

And all the reasons it was a bad idea to come to the Yule Ball come crashing down on Clint again. If it wasn't for Natasha, he'd head out of here and never come back.

"We can't keep tiptoeing around mentioning Loki," Darcy says. "He was a dick, and we have to acknowledge it."

"Darcy!"

"Well, he _was_. He screwed up Clint's head and he hurt Phil because he had a grudge and he wanted to show he was special. Can anyone say 'issues much'?"

Trust Darcy to make it pithy.

"It's just… It's just awkward," Jane says with an apologetic look in Clint's direction.

"Yeah, and it's gonna be awkward until we get over it!"

"Seems like you already have," Maria remarks dryly. "But it's about what happened to Phil and Clint, and not just Loki's issues. The question is whether _they_ mind."

"Yes," Phil says firmly. "Loki is someone I'd rather not devote one second more to talking about than has already been done. If you don't mind. We can talk about other, more interesting things, like what Tony's done to get lecture from Professor McKay."

Heads turn immediately, necks craning to see whatever crisis Stark has now precipitated. But Phil takes a moment longer to turn his head and his gaze catches Clint's. And Clint knows that Phil doesn't mind the mention of Loki for himself, he minds the mention of Loki for _Clint's_ sake. Because Clint's not okay with it, and Phil somehow knew that and not only let the others know that the topic was off-limits, but redirected the conversation.

And if Clint brings it up with Phil, he knows the other guy will just shrug and say, "_That's what I'm here for._"

It chokes him up and he looks away because it'd be humiliating to cry in public, even if the only person looking at him is Phil, and tries to stick his hands in his pockets before he realises he doesn't have pockets.

Natasha's hand closes around his and she jerks her head over to where Tony is still arguing with the Arithmancy professor. "Do you think they need a rescue?"

"Do you want to get in the middle of that?"

She thinks about it. Actually thinks about getting between the most argumentative of the students and the most argumentative of the professors. Clint rolls his eyes and tugs her arm around so she's no longer able to watch. "If Stark wants a rescue, he can formulate his own. He's a big boy."

"So he keeps telling everyone," Maria quips as she stretches her legs out lazily, like a cat. "Guess we'll have to ask Pepper tomorrow."

"Maria!" Phil gives her an alarmed look. "You wouldn't."

Betty Ross giggles behind her hands, Maria just smiles.

"We could always ask you about Steve and the Quidditch change rooms," Jane suggests, demure as dumplings, and it's Maria's turn to go pink.

Clint lifts an eyebrow at Natasha who smiles, a little enigmatically. "I'll tell you later," she says as the other guys come back with drinks and food, and the conversation shifts, drifts, settles into topics and themes, some of which Clint can talk about, others of which he knows nothing.

And, sitting between Natasha and Phil, occasionally questioned but quietly included, Clint begins to relax. It's inexplicable, considering he's never wanted the good opinion of any of these people – other than Natasha and Phil and Darcy, and maybe Maria – and yet their approval and inclusion means…well, a lot, if the sense of unwinding inside him is any indication.

So he's relaxed and easy when the Headmistress announces the 'heroes dance'. And then tenses when Natasha grabs his hand and pulls him up.

"What?"

"It's a dance. For us and the others," she mutters. "I forgot to tell you."

"A dance?" Panic grips him. Nobody said anything about a dance.

Stark's already leading Pepper out onto the floor, and Jane and Thor look poised and perfect. But Banner is arguing with Betty, and Maria is looking like she's wishing for a sudden attack of sprained ankles – for her or for Steve.

Natasha rolls her eyes. "We practised in class, remember?"

"That was in class! Not out here—" In front of everyone. Among these other guys who really are heroes, who didn't end up under the Imperious Curse, helping Loki cause trouble and hurt other students.

"Ms. Romanov, Mr. Barton, is there a problem?"

Clint looks at Natasha's carefully neutral face, and stands, his hand closing around hers. "No," he tells the Headmistress. "No problem."

He doesn't belong here, but Natasha does. She kept them all in touch, kept the guys in line when they threatened to get out, and did more than her fair share of hexing and protecting and fighting back against Loki's dark wizards. Clint won't embarrass her in front of the school. He may not be a hero, but he can do that much at least.

The music starts up – an easy waltz, and Clint's instincts take over. He leads, Natasha follows, and they move like they've been practising this every free moment they've had for the last month. His heart lightens in the movement and the music – maybe he doesn't belong in this dance, but he belongs in Natasha's arms at this moment and it feels…it feels…good.

He glances over at their table, to see how Phil's doing, and catches Phil and Darcy sitting with their hands together on the table, not looking at each other, saying nothing, just smiling.

Sudden joy bubbles up in him, lightening his spirits, making him grin down at Natasha.

Natasha grins back, a bright and gorgeous smile.

"No problem?" She asks.

"None at all," he tells her.

It's not entirely true, perhaps – it won't always be perfect as it is now. But it's true enough for this moment and this night.

**fin**

"_Nothing defines humans better than their willingness to do irrational things  
in the pursuit of phenomenally unlikely payoffs._

_This is the principle behind lotteries, dating, and religion._"

_~Scott Adams~_

**NOTES**: The New Mexico School Of Magic and the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Wizardry are the US equivalent of Hogwarts which replaced the Xavier Institute of Wizard Learning after the War of Wizarding Supremacy. The Xavier institute was originally an offshoot of Hogwarts before being renamed after its American founder (a member of the Xavier wizarding family), which is why they stuck with the four houses. There were proposals to change the school houses to appropriately 'American' names, but they never got off the ground, and so they've stayed as they are.

In case you couldn't tell, Thor, Sif, and Steve are Gryffindors; Clint, Phil, and Darcy are Hufflepuffs; Jane, Bruce, Pepper, and Betty are Ravenclaws, which leaves Natasha, Maria, Loki, and Tony as the Slytherins. Nick is Head Boy (and a Slytherin), and Erik is a Ravenclaw.

There may be a 'How To Get A Date To The Yule Ball' fic to come. We'll see if the characters cough up.


End file.
